


Go Kindle Fire With Snow

by 3littleowls



Series: When He Thinks No One Can See [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Mycroft's Meddling, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/pseuds/3littleowls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock starts down the path training for his eventual role as a consulting detective. He is also in his first relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Kindle Fire With Snow

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of stand-alone Sherlock vignettes in chronological order, ending at The Reichenbach Fall.
> 
> These are based off a prompt: “You look sad when you think no one is looking." - Molly Hooper  
> Sometimes people will see, sometimes not.

## October 5th, 2000

“Darling, what are you going to do?” Victor asks.

Sherlock hmms in reply. They are sitting in his shabby student flat. The one table is overloaded with books and sheet music, and he is gazing into a microscope.

“Seriously Sherlock. When you scrapped Chemistry and moved to London to study music, we figured you were cracked. Now I visit and here you are, peering into science equipment again.”

Sherlock spares him a glance. “I am not going to take my exams, if that’s what you are asking.”

He looks hopeful. “What? Are you coming back to Oxford?”

Sherlock sighs in annoyance. “I enjoy the tutorials, reading and access to laboratories. While I do find music composition stimulating, the exams and the system is stifling. I believe I am going to pursue my own education independently.”

He starts. “Dropping out? You can’t! You’re a bloody genius!”

“I won’t be idle. I am studying a martial art. Next week I start as an intern worker at Bart’s.”

Victor looks confused, “The hospital? For medicine? I don’t understand.”

“No, no.” Sherlock sits back from the microscope, completely giving up. “I’m going to be working in the mortuary.”

“The. Mortuary.” He stammers.

“Yes,” He flutters his hands in frustration, “How else am I supposed to learn how to analyze victims after a crime? That usually means bodies, which means the mortuary.”

Victor stares dumbfounded. “I thought you didn’t want to go into law enforcement?”

“Dull.”

“So what exactly are you telling me Sherlock? What the hell are you doing with yourself? What are you preparing for?”

“Ugh. You sound like Mycroft.” Sherlock flings his arms in dismissal.

Victor rises and stands behind him. He rests his hands on his shoulders, which stops Sherlock’s restless waving. He starts massaging his neck, digging his fingers into tight muscles.

“No one who cares about you wants to see you make a mistake. You have so much talent. Be a doctor, a chemist, a musician or work for your brother. You have to use that big brain for something.”

Sherlock lets his head fall forward to his chest and relaxes into the massage. “I know what is best for me. Unlike my brother. He hasn’t been talking to you again, has he?”

“Yes, but I’m not here campaigning for him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Hmm.”

Victor spins Sherlock’s swivel chair around to face him.

“It wouldn’t be the worst option you know. Lots of puzzles to solve. Especially if you don’t finish university.”

Sherlock studies him silently, and offers no reply.

“You are a mess.” Victor murmurs, his voice going low. He leans in and brushes his lips over Sherlock’s; carefully at first, deepening as he feels him reciprocate. His hand reaches behind his head, cupping under the dark curls and gently pulling Sherlock up from his seat.

Sherlock sighs against his mouth and loosely wraps his arms around his hips. He truly would be content to kiss all evening; to feel the smooth slide of lips over his, the gentle licking against his teeth coaxing him to allow entrance. He feels pleasantly warm and flushed, cherished and cared for.

Victor’s other hand presses on his back urging him closer, arching his arousal into Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock makes a sharp gasp, and Victor pauses to look up at him, taking in his pinked cheeks and half-lidded eyes. He starts to kiss along his jaw, along his impossibly long pale neck. He slides his hand along Sherlock’s collar and drifts down his chest, picking buttons loose. Sherlock dips his head to find his lips again, biting slightly.

His hand pops the last shirt button, and strokes the smooth expanse of chest underneath, feeling him shiver. When his hand grazes the top of Sherlock’s waistband, his whole body stiffens and he shies away. Victor stops roving but doesn’t let Sherlock leave the circle of his arms, and looks up into his eyes. For a split moment he sees the panic overlying the desire, and something that looks like disappointment, too. Sherlock blinks and it is gone, leaving him again almost unreadable.

“Do you want me to stop? I told you, just tell me.” Sherlock shakes his head, but Victor is unconvinced. “I think you want me to stop.” He says, and gives him an inch more of space between them without letting him go.

Sherlock won’t look at him directly, but is gazing on a point over his shoulder. He is frustrated with himself. He likes Victor. He likes being touched, which only happens when he visits him. He just can’t stop feeling trapped when things start progressing. He hates the feeling of unwinding, of losing control. The vulnerability makes him panic. He tries to relax, force through it, but he hasn’t be able to.

“Will you talk to me about it?” He asks, softly stroking his back. Sherlock doesn’t reply. Victor sighs in frustration and kisses his cheek before finally letting him go.

“I’ll wait for you, Sherlock, I will. I know you haven’t made love with anyone and if you're not ready, it’s okay. We can go slow. I just need to know I have a reason to hope.”

Sherlock knows where this is going. There is only so much patience he will have with him. It’s not a lot to ask to be intimate with your boyfriend. Soon he will leave, and perhaps it’s for the best, after all. He suspects that Victor is subtly being manipulated by Mycroft.

“I can try,” Sherlock offers.

Victor nods. “Right. So another Saturday night on your sofa, and snogging until I need to go wank in the toilet.” He quirks him a half-smile, trying to reassure him that this is really fine. He reaches to pull Sherlock back into his arms. “I do wish you would tell me what is going on in that head of yours.”

Sherlock sighs and leans in, hiding his face in his shoulder. He will miss this when Victor leaves. For now he enjoys the warmth of another person’s touch for as long as it can last. His frowns, knowing how sentimental his need is, but he is not able to push back the sorrow of the impending loss just the same.  


**Author's Note:**

> Besides the obvious I played with a few other ideas in this one short fic.
> 
> I always wondered how Sherlock gained access to Bart's, without being employed there. I also wanted to portray Victor Trevor as a decent guy, since he is often cast otherwise.
> 
> Thanks to gowerstreet for editing again!


End file.
